I will not miss my mother when she dies

I will dig her up from her grave and brush her hair

Let the soft strands peel off

between each bristle

Until one day I am brushing bare


And I will kiss her bones

Each night before bed

As she pantomimes vendiciones

I am not afraid to let her dead fingers

Stroke my cheek

Or wipe away my tears

Because even as a raw corpse

I can feel the warmth in her fingertips

Don’t be afraid to die mother

I will not miss you

One Legged
                Tight Rope Walker

They all cheer for the
                        One legged tight rope walker
Her fumbles are amusing
   Her struggles stir laughter
She is so clumsy up on that
                                tight rope
   Straining in vain to find balance
We all jeer at the
       One legged tight rope walker
She trips
            Her eyes are wide
                       Anticipating a fall
            We smile broadly from the
                       Security of our seats

They all leer at me in disgust
            As I pace across
                       They watch
            As the muscles in my thigh clench to support me
I look down at the trampoline
Beneath me
An unspoken promise
And can already feel
The wind on my cheek
Slave Like everything else
            To gravity


She spent her whole life
Picking at her fingers
Averting eyes
Feeding herself to the walls
So she chopped off her fingertips
Trained her eyes to see
Even in the dark
And the walls ceased to consume her


I can’t tell when
The satin turned to sand
Something soft on my skin
Stripping me of my protection
I don’t know when
The satin turned to sand
It’s carress once embedded like beads to my body
And yet it can become dust
Somehow I have lost it and its slight touch
Somehow I feel less like myself
I don’t know when
The satin turned to sand
I try to stitch it back together
But al the pieces are small and scattered
Worse than something broken
There are no parts
Just piles
Of my once silky satin
Sunken at my feet
I don’t know how
My satin turned to sand
When I loved it so much
Surrendered to its sweet truth
Lived the smell of lilac
But now
My satin is sand
And I am
Somewhere slipping

Perceived Space

I have more space in one corner

Than standing in the middle of the room

Walls conceal me

And therefore I emerge

I collapse under too many eyes

Constraints can be freeing

If you let them nestle you in their comfort

Nina Austin
Age 16, Grade 11
Berkeley Carroll School
Silver Key

Leave a Reply